


Truth or Dare

by ava_jamison



Category: Batman (Comics), Justice League, Superman (Comics), World's Finest - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Cliche, First Time, Humor, M/M, Science Fiction, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Off-World trouble puts Batman in a tight spot. It's Wally's fault, but Superman's the one who has to solve the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth or Dare

Batman comes to because someone’s patting his face—his cheek, harder and harder with a big warm hand. It’s very annoying, but not a tenth as annoying as whatever is jammed in his mouth and the fact that he can’t move. Or see. He registers giggling at approximately four o’clock, 6 meters away, breathy and high. The part of him that catalogs disasters notes that there is no way this will turn out well.

He mouths whatever’s shoved between his teeth, testing. A vine, and Poison Ivy has nothing on this alien genus as far as speed of engagement. One minute he’s telling Flash not to touch a giant stone penis and the next minute vines have him blindfolded, gagged and pinned to a… representational column in a temple on this hellhole jungle of a planet, all hot stink of rotting vegetation, humid, oppressive heat and bizarre, primitive rituals.

“He’s awake.” There’s relief in Superman’s voice.

“So do something,” Batman tries to say, but trying to talk makes him bite down on the thing in his mouth—and that gets him a mouthful of thick, syrupy plant sap. It tastes like sickeningly sweet fruit punch that stings as it slides down his throat.

Superman uses something—his cape, probably, to wipe the sweat from his cheeks and jaw—the parts of his face not covered by the cowl. “Try not to struggle, Batman.”

But Superman isn’t doing anything, so Batman jerks against the roping green tendrils that are holding him—and the more he tenses, the tighter he’s bound. His body is tingling, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the sap or lack of circulation.

The last thing he remembers is splitting into teams. Joint mission: JLA and the Titans, and he, Nightwing and Flash got this quadrant of the small, sparsely populated planet. Their job: evacuate the last inhabitants of Dexell 5, which is due to implode in… when? How much time had he been out? How much time left before annihilation?

“We don’t have much time,” Superman says, like he knows what Bruce was thinking. And wants to irritate him by denying any actually helpful information, like specifics.

“How much time?” It comes out muffled and mostly illegible and he gets another mouthful of sap for his trouble. Hot and strong. Not painful, but harsh like a big swallow of cheap liquor, traveling past his tongue and down his throat and now he can even feel it spreading, prickling through his arms and fingers. “Nightwing?” he says, best as he can around the gag.

“He’s okay,” Clark says, and Bruce can hear the ready, hopeful smile. It’s the kind that’s meant to be reassuring, the kind Superman uses with people he’s about to rescue. Except that Superman’s not doing anything to rescue him.

“Personal status?” he says, but it comes out all garbled, especially since he’s trying to say it without putting any pressure on the vine in his mouth. He tries again. “You?”

“If you’re asking about me, I’m fine.” Clark puts a warm hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine, too. Just need to get you out of here.”

“Yes we do!” Batman says, or tries to say, and swallows another load of cloying nectar. It’s stupefying, it’s dizzying, and it warms as it travels further. Into the shoulder where Clark’s hand is, into his belly and—

The vine around his eyes falls away, rolling back into itself, just like that. He can see Superman. Clark’s there, stalwart and heroic, just standing there with his hand on Batman’s shoulder, smiling at him with that benevolent, I-don’t-even-know-I’m-some-kind-of-god smile. All sunshine and blue skies and a vine around his foot slithers against him, and—

What the hell? He knows if it wasn’t for this damn sap, he’d have it all figured out by now. He’d better get a sample of this specimen before he leaves. It’s not like pollen, but it’s… it’s mildly intoxicating, at bare minimum.

“So um, guys!” It’s Wally and he’s suddenly right there beside Clark, grinning like an insanely happy idiot.

He’d been in mid-yell—Don’t touch that, Flash!—when the vines suddenly shot up and grabbed him, so the thing runs between his teeth, not over his mouth. Allowing him, helpfully, to be able to growl at Wally and for this, he’s grateful.

“Yeah, I know.” Wally hangs his head, too-long hair flopping over one eye, but when he looks up again, he doesn’t actually look very sorry. “You want any help?” He waggles his eyebrows at Clark. “Dick won’t let me.”

Crossing his arms, Superman, of all people, glares at Wally. “Go to the shuttle, Flash.”

“Didn’t mean to horn in on your territory, Big Blue.”

Clark’s eyes narrow to slits, red edging the periphery and it’s—truly a sight to behold, Superman ready to blow, and some part of Bruce’s brain realizes he’s getting lightheaded.

Superman says two words, low and guttural. “Get. Out.”

“Okay, okay.” Wally’s a streak of red, then gone.

The planet rumbles, deep inside its core and the floor of the temple shakes beneath them.

“Did the earth move for you too, baby?”

Batman looks in the direction of the voice—it’s Dick’s voice, and it’s followed by feminine giggles, but Clark’s big wall of a body is in the way.

“Tremors coming closer together,” Wonder Woman says, over Superman’s com.

“Where are you?”

“Getting the last of the evacuees in the shuttle.”

Another tremor hits, stronger this time and even Superman is jostled enough that he moves an inch or two and…

Bruce can now see past Clark’s right shoulder. A few meters away and he… did not need to see this. It’s Dick and Kory. Kory’s leaning down to kiss him and Dick’s tied up against another one of these damn phallic columns that line the room. She’s plastered against to him, with her hands pistoning his hips and her leg shoved way up between his. She’s got Dick riding her thigh and that’s really not something he needed to see in this lifetime. It’s not as bad as the time he walked in on Dick and some girl during the 2004 Wayne Foundation Christmas party, but it’s no picnic, either and he looks away, only to have to glance back, because something’s moving, fast. It’s a vine, and it’s retracting off of Dick as Dick starts making these little… groaning noises and the expression on Bruce’s face must be one of sheer mortification, because Clark quickly steps close, blocking his view.

“They’re, um… almost done.”

Batman starts to get a very bad feeling about things.

“They can’t be cut, torn or even burned,” Superman’s saying.

The unmistakable sound of Wonder Woman’s footsteps echo over the floor tiles as she approaches. “You’re going to be okay?”

Yes, if you’ll make those two stop canoodling in public and get me the hell—

But then Batman realizes she’s talking to Clark. Asking _him_ if he’ll be okay.

Bruce glares at them both. Maybe he can bite through the thing in his mouth. It’d be something, and then at least he could yell at them. He works the thing with his teeth and grimaces at another gulp of its hot, chemical-citrus taste.

He’s… off, he finally admits to himself. Really off. Definitely impaired, although he’d never admit it aloud. He recognizes the signs of intoxication: confusion and disorientation. Or maybe it’s that everything’s so surreal. Completely surreal.

Clark is nodding to Diana. “It’s…” he clears his throat.

“It’s the only way that makes sense.” Her jaw is set, determined. Just the way it is before she goes into battle. And looking from one of them to the other, Bruce sees that same set to Clark’s jaw, too.

“The shuttle’s ready to go.”

Clark turns to Batman, congratulatory. “You got them out, Batman. They’re going to be okay,” he says, clapping him heartily on the shoulder.

“Taking them to colony PL3-7b,” Diana says.

Batman glares at them harder, not the least because they’re all three now having to pretend they don’t hear what’s happening six meters away. And Dick is unsurprisingly very, very noisy when he does… what he’s doing. Of course, _he’s_ known that since that unfortunate moment he’d excused himself from the Christmas party to retrieve stats for Lucien and suddenly been up way too close and personal with several aspects of Dick’s love life, but Clark and Diana? Wally is going to pay.

Dick’s growls are punctuated by a, “Yes! Oh, yes—Dick!” from Kory and Clark blushes.

Diana’s eyes get very big. Diana really has pretty eyes, Bruce suddenly realizes.

“Well,” she says. “I ought to get the shuttle off-planet.”

“Yes,” Clark says. “You should go.”

Diana pats Clark’s shoulder and then reaches out and squeezes Bruce’s—the one Clark isn’t gripping, and that’s… odd. Then she turns and he’s suddenly reminded that Diana has a nice ass. Really nice. He twists as much as he can in his bonds to watch it as she leaves. Waiting at the temple door, Wally turns to follow her out and he notes that Wally is watching Diana’s ass too, but—well, that’s Wally. Who also, he has to admit, has a very nicely shaped—

From behind Superman’s big blue body, comes a long, low moan.

“You good then?” asks Clark, arms folded across his chest, speaking to the couple behind him without turning around.

“We’re good,” Nightwing and Starfire say in almost perfect unison.

Superman still doesn’t turn, but raises his hand in a goodbye wave.

“Um, yeah,” Dick says, stammering a little. “I… um, yeah. Take care and we’ll just get out of your way then.” He keeps his eyes averted as Starfire lifts him and they head for a large opening in the roof of the temple. He shouts something that sounds encouraging, like “I know you’ll do fine,” as they shoot up into the sky, leaving Superman and Batman alone on the planet. That’s about to implode.

Clark clears his throat.

Batman frowns under his cowl.

“We’ve got to get those vines off.”

Batman nods, as vigorously as he can while being restrained. Which isn’t much, because he’s even got a tendril wrapped around his forehead. The vines constrict a little as he does, pulling his chest tighter. He can’t see them but he can feel them, the one between his teeth, the one binding even his head to the pedestal, the huge one banded around his chest, others around his arms and legs. He can barely move his body, but mentally, he’s strangely relaxed. The slightest bit fuzzy, even.

Clark—isn’t making eye contact.

“It’s…” he clears his throat again.

Just say it, Bruce’s mind screams. Or go ahead and do it. He’s really starting to note... stirrings. Before reminding himself that disinhibition is one of the results of certain alcohol-like chemical stimuli. On the other hand, they need to get out of here. Very soon.

“So." Superman takes a deep breath. "As you know, this is a fertility temple. We have to do... it's a procreation ritual, um, ritual.”

Bruce rolls his eyes because he got it a long time ago. Then he blinks, because Superman’s going for it. Outside his uniform, but still…

“Trying to find the clasps, Bruce. Hang on. We’ll get you out of, um,” Superman is lucky he’s good looking, because he’s got to be the world’s slowest when it comes to getting to the point. “We get you to a … certain state,” he says, cringing a little, “and the vines’ll let go.”

Superman’s hands are big and warm and clumsy with the openings to his groin guard. He clearly has no idea what he’s doing.

Batman sighs, rolls his eyes again.

“Doing the best I can, Bruce. It’s like Fort Knox.” His hand finds a catch. “Oh, there it is.” Clark crouches down to get a better angle, continues. “We tested on Wally—Diana figured he’d be the fastest and—she was right.”

Bruce snorts around his gag at that. Okay, he has to know. Wonder Woman or Superman? Because he just can’t see either. “How?” he spits out around the vine.

“Huh?” Superman says, reaching to push up glasses that aren’t there. “Um, well, didn’t take much, really. After the gag fell away, he said he needed a little help, so Diana and I…”

“What?” and if Bruce could grin around this vine, he would.

“Um, well,” Clark says, sheepish.

Batman narrows his eyes, daring. They really do owe him. He shouldn’t be the only one to suffer so much.

Superman gets the message. He shrugs, bashful. “We… we may have posed for him a little.”

“Wait, wait!” Clark backtracks, at whatever he sees on Bruce’s face. “With our clothes on,” he says, finally opening the main hasp. “And our eyes closed.” Clark pauses, and his tone is purely conversational. “Mostly he helped himself. Did you know Speedsters can vibrate all _or_ just parts of their body? I didn’t.”

Bruce chokes a little around the slowly-but-surely becoming delicious vine.

Superman looks up from his crouch, watches him mouth the thing. “The vines—I think they may have an aphrodisiac effect.” Clark’s laugh is nervous. “But you know, they say oysters, too and that’s never, you know, for me, but…”

He’s still talking, rambling really, but Bruce is tired of listening. Since when did a big strapping Kansas farmboy eat oysters? And he very much doubts Clark needs help being amorous. Hung like a horse and a very respectable semi every time he’s seen the man in the showers. Not that he looks, but he can’t help it. Nor should he. He’s a detective.

“So,” Superman says, his voice a little shaky as he stands up. “Let’s get started, Batman.”

For the first time since this whole nightmare began, Bruce is happy—inordinately happy—that he doesn’t have to respond in any way to that statement. However, now that the moment is upon him, he does find it difficult to breathe.

Superman sees his jaw tense. “That’s probably a good idea, Bruce. Bite down.” He reaches out, hand on his cheek. “Take a little more of that, okay? Doctor’s orders.” Superman inhales deeply, then lets it out. “In fact, maybe it’ll help if we just think of this whole thing as a… medical necessity.” He runs his thumb along the vine, gently pressing it further into Bruce’s mouth, gathering thick drops of fluid as he slides along the thing. Then slips his sap-covered thumb past the gag, into the corner of Bruce’s mouth.

The vine around Bruce’s right ankle slides off and away.

Superman doesn’t notice, because his eyes are on Bruce’s. He reaches for his shoulder, and Bruce has the sudden image of high school Clark on a first date, trying to put his arm around a girl at the movies.

He pulls close, just as another tremor hits. Superman holds him while it passes, his breath soft and warm on his cheek.

“Superman,” Wonder Woman’s voice comes over his com. “By my calculations you’ve got about seventeen minutes—”

“Diana, you’re not helping,” Superman says, and switches off the link.

He reaches down and now Bruce sees teenage Clark with a girl on a porch swing—that’s how they do it in Kansas, right? Shy but going for suave as he tries to put his hand down his first pair of panties. He suppresses the urge to giggle, but that goes away as soon as Clark’s big, warm hand closes around his dick, already half hard.

Batman’s eyes roll back in his head and his body relaxes against Superman’s, as much as he’s able, all trussed up.

“You want me to talk you through?”

Bruce pulls back so Clark can see the look on his face. And is surprised to find that he can now move his head, but just slightly.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Superman… rubs him, and it’s awkward.

“Clinical.”

“What?” Superman smiles at him, fond and warm. “Did you just say ‘clinical’? Just because I mentioned doctors…” Grinning, he leans down, his lips millimeters from Batman’s, then brushing them as he bites into the vine in Bruce’s mouth, sending it’s viscous liquid down Bruce’s throat and all over his own lips and teeth. Licking the stuff from his lips, he raises his palm to the leaking wound in the vine and rubs it, gathering moisture. "And you," he says, still smiling, "are the last person I know who has any room to talk about 'clinical'." He wraps around Bruce with a warm, wet fist, strong fingers brushing against his inner thighs.

Bruce fights the urge to buck. Both because he’s sure he’s tied too tightly and because he … he is just not going to do that. Batman is not going to buck into Superman’s fist. It would be too difficult to live with. Not—and the sap must be working, because he wants to giggle again—that this is much better, come to think of it.

But then Superman’s hand starts to move faster and he can’t suppress a choked little gasp. Superman squints at him, then studies the vines. He smiles a ridiculously self-satisfied smile as the tendril coiled around Batman’s left ankle slithers away.

“That’s right. Nice and easy,” Superman says, his voice a low croon. “You’re doing fine.” He pumps Bruce a little harder, scanning the vines for progress. “Like this?”

Bruce makes a noise, but even he’s not quite sure what it’s supposed to mean, though he _is_ sure his eyes have lost their ability to focus. Another vine drops. This time, the one around his forehead. Clark looks smug and takes the opportunity to yank down his cowl. Batman’s never felt so naked. Or so turned on.

His dick surges in Clark’s hand and the vines around his left wrist fall away.

Clark grins and keeps going, using his other hand to run a gentle index finger over Bruce’s temple, then the thin skin around his eyes.

The planet rumbles, reminding them to hurry.

“What do you want, Bruce? Can you tell me? I could talk about women or how handsome you are, or…don’t look so horrified, Bruce. You’re a very beautiful man.” He tousles Bruce’s hair. “Oh, now you’re blushing.” Clark softly kisses the tip of his ear.

A startled, breathy little sound escapes Bruce’s throat and the vine around his other wrist retracts.

Clark takes that as permission to kiss his cheek, and Bruce shocks himself by, as much as he can, turning into the kiss. Clark smiles with a surprised but pleased look of his own.

He kisses the other side of his face, changing his stroke, watching Bruce’s reaction. And the vine in Bruce’s mouth slides away. Bruce gasps for a minute, opening and closing his jaw, trying to get it to relax, and Clark massages his jawline, trying to help. Then he grasps Bruce’s chin, gently, between his big thumb and forefinger. “I’m going to really kiss you now. I think it’ll help.” Gorgeous blue eyes, serious and solemn, search Bruce’s.

Bruce has time to blink and nod, just once, before Superman’s lips are on him and they’re warm and wet and so very, very good. He can’t help but open his mouth, doesn’t want to try not to, and invites Superman’s tongue inside.

Superman makes an eager little humming sound and licks his way in.

Probably taste like fruit punch, Bruce thinks, but Clark doesn’t seem to mind, and then Bruce can’t think at all because he’s sucking Clark’s tongue and it’s the most perfect, delectable thing he’s ever had in his mouth.

More vines fall away, the ones on his legs, and his lower body is finally free to buck up into the hand that’s still working, driving him crazy.

Just not quite as crazy as the mouth against his. Another vine loosens and he reaches to put his arm around Clark, pulling him closer. And realizes Clark is grinning.

“Almost there, Bruce,” Clark says.

“Shut up and kiss me, Superman.”

“Your hand’s free now. Do you want to use it to, um… finish on your own?”

“No, but I’ll use it to clock you if you stop.”

Clark laughs and kisses him much, much more enthusiastically.

Bruce feels his lips quirking up and he’s smiling around Clark’s tongue and it’s the strangest, most amazing feeling in the world.

Clark feels it too, because he pulls far enough away to smile back at him with this shocky, kind of stoned expression.

Beneath their feet, the planet shakes and trembles and they both ignore it completely.

Bruce knows he must look like an idiot right now too, but whatever Clark sees in Bruce’s face changes his and he grins this… different smile. One that Bruce has never seen, never thought he’d see on Superman’s face. It’s hungry and wolfish and sweet all at the same time and Clark just lunges—there’s no other word for it—lunges against him and throws all of that magnificent heat and weight against him. Presses against him and good god. That’s Clark’s leg between his and Clarks working really hard to hump his thigh and damn, Clark’s huge and hot and hard—and he always knew the man didn’t wear much groin protection.

Another quake hits, this one bigger and stronger than the last, but Clark’s hand keeps stroking and his other hand grabs Bruce’s ass and Bruce can’t suck Clark’s tongue deep enough. Clark’s moaning into his mouth and it’s anybody’s guess who’s going to come first, but Clark’s hand is so good that Batman has to buck his hips and throw his head back and he comes, all over the ‘S’ on Superman’s chest.

Clark laughs into his mouth and doesn’t stop kissing him, or humping his leg, but he does wrap both arms around Batman and hold him tighter. The ground under their feet swells and rolls and the temple crashes down around them as Clark lifts them both up into the sky.

Somewhere about seven miles up, Superman ejaculates on his leg, and it’s warm and sticky and wonderful.

Later, after they’ve cleaned up and… relaxed, Superman and Batman report to the Watchtower. They are pleased to announce that after Nightwing and Starfire left the premises, Batman deduced that the vines loosened whenever a tremor shook the giant stone penis, so Superman knocked it down and all of the vines unwound of their own, automatic accord. At which time, Superman’s super-hearing alerted them to a crisis on another planet, which they went and took care of and that’s how it happened.

The end.


End file.
